


Reach Deep Within

by Whatabeautifulday23



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Black Blood, F/M, Insanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatabeautifulday23/pseuds/Whatabeautifulday23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A two part about what would have happened if Maka had never escaped the black blood in her fight with Crona.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Soul ‘Eater’ Evans slumps against the white-washed wall after closing the hospital room door behind him. He needs to be out here; even if the hallway is too bright for his liking, with tile floors that match the emptiness of the walls, and smells _sterile_ in a way that will linger with him on his way home and for the rest of the day. The need to escape rises up in him, feral, but he pushes it down.

None of it should bother him anymore. Yet when he comes here every day, the bright white almost blinds his eyes whenever he looks at it, and the smell makes his nose wrinkle. He’s so sensitive to the extraneous senses; sometimes he thinks his life would be easier if he was blind and deaf. A life of misery, sure, but it would probably be better than his life currently.

It’s been two years since he had to start coming here, but each visit still feels like the first one, which is ridiculous. As sad as it is, the mental ward in the hospital has become a second home to him.

A headache begins to pulse behind his left eye, and deciding that he can’t stand here outside the room any longer, he heads toward the exit of the hospital, giving in to the need to escape. With his hands shoved in his pockets, body slouched forward as he walks, his typical headband speared in his snow-white hair, and red eyes downcast, not much about him has physically changed. But there’s an empty space beside him, and it’s that empty space that drains him. Ironically, it’s that empty space beside him that keeps him moving, too.

Soul runs into Spirit on his way out. He is headed to where Soul just left, and the two exchange a nod once their eyes meet. “Any change?” Spirit asks, uncharacteristically solemn, and Soul bites back a bitter laugh. Change? As if.

“No.”

And that’s the end of their conversation. Spirit signs it at the nurse’s desk, not even bothering to flirt with the pretty girl behind it, and Soul slumps out the hospital doors. Spirit’s lucky he even got the single word; Soul usually communicates in grunts and head movements nowadays.

It’s drizzling as he walks back to his apartment. Maka wasn’t that bad today; he’s seen her much worse before, with her arms strapped down to her sides so she didn’t make herself bleed as she thrashed around. The hospital staff had learned. On her bad days, or really, the days where there is no Maka left, she needed to be strapped down or she would rip herself apart.

Being alone is what Soul prefers. It gives him plenty of time to focus on his regrets, each and every single one of them, and the list seems to grow every day. He regrets each time he called her _tiny tits_ or _bookworm,_ or anything that made her insecure about herself. He regrets not appreciating her more, regrets not talking to her more when he had the chance to. The regret that hits him every second of every hour of every day, though, is letting her plunge into the black blood, because they planned for escape from it; and while Soul himself escaped its clutches, Maka descended into true insanity.

He escaped. She did not.

It was his black blood, after all. It was his own madness that somehow swallowed her and spat him out. Sometimes, he remembers nearly drowning in it, and maybe _it’s his fault, maybe he pushed it onto her to escape from it himself._

_It should have been him, it should have been him, IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HIM._

But it wasn’t.

When he gets to their old apartment, he unlocks the door and steps in, and locks it once again behind him. Being back home almost depresses him as much as being in the hospital. While he is lazy, Soul generally picks up after himself, although it did help to have someone nag him a little, not that he would ever admit that. But ever since the disastrous final battle with Crona beneath DWMA, Maka has been in the hospital, and he has completely lost the will to clean. Take out containers litter the dining room table and the coffee table by the TV; the sofa is a mess of both clean and dirty clothes; plates and forks and knives are currently drowning in the sink, and the whole apartment needs a good dusting and vacuuming. But without his Maka breathing down his neck, Soul just creeps into his bedroom, the only place he keeps semi-neat, and sleeps. Even if the nightmares keep him up for most of the night anyway.

~

           The next day dawns as Saturday, and Soul knows he will spend it in the hospital with Maka. He ignores his friends’ usual requests to hang out; they want to distract him from his insane meister. He knows, deep down, that they care just as much about her as he does, but they are worried about him. Even Black Star is mildly concerned by his behavior.

           There is only one place for him today, though.

           Today seems to be a good day. Maka is almost lucid, judging by the soft smile curling her lips up as she sees him. Her ashy hair is down, which is also a good sign; if she is having a bad day, it’s usually tied up and back to prevent yanking. She isn’t restrained to the bed, either. Her arms rest gently at her sides.

           Hope flutters in his heart, along with a little bit of something else – okay, a _lot_ of something else. When Maka smiles at him like that, Soul can’t help but face the realization of how in love with her he is. Not that there is much he can do about that now.

            _My fault_.

           “Hey,” she speaks softly, voice a little rough-around-the-edges from yesterday’s screaming.

           Soul pulls a chair from the table up to her bedside. “Hey,” he replies, expression contorting into a typical frown. “How are you feeling today?”

           Maka shrugs, lips pressing into a thin little line that makes his heart ache. “Almost normal. I was hoping you would be coming in today. I…wanted to ask you about something.” She’s beating around the bush, and he knows it. Still, he soars – Maka is practically normal today. As normal as an eighteen year old, insane meister can be. At least she isn’t cackling yet.

           “What do you want? I’ll get you anything you need. Anything,” he replies almost a little too earnestly, because he would go to the ends of the Earth and beyond for her, and reaches his hand over and curls it over hers gently. Hand-holding is normal for them too, on her good days. Before her descent into madness, they held hands often, even when he didn’t need to transform. It just felt right, and it’s yet another sign of her lucidity.

           Her emerald eyes gaze into his own before faltering, and she glances away. “It’s dangerous. Like, I honestly don’t even want to try anymore, because it’s dangerous for you. For me, it’s really not. I mean, can I get any worse?” Maka forces a harsh laugh as she babbles, and Soul rubs his thumb on the back of her hand reassuringly.

           “I’ll do anything for you. Go anywhere for you.”

           Those strong words, followed by the smirk that used to send her heart racing, convince her to ask. She breaks her hand from his and places it on his cheek, watching as his red eyes flutter close and his breath hitches in his chest. Her eyes intent on his closed ones, she strokes his cheek gently with her thumb, watches as he swallows hard. This is all they both ever wanted, though deep down, they’ll probably never admit it.

           “I want to try Soul Resonance.”

           Soul blanches, and draws back. Immediately, the risks anoint in his mind: this could drive her over the edge, he could be drawn into the madness too, to name a few. But Maka’s already read the doubt on his face, and she’s practically drawn up charts to convince him into saying yes. Briefly, he wonders how she had time to think about all of this.

           “Listen, I know you’ve tried before-“

           He had, when she was first brought in. But Soul Resonance doesn’t really work when only one person is trying.

           “-but I wasn’t lucid like I am now!” She grows impatient, letting out a huff, fingers tightening and relaxing spasmodically. He’s tempted to cover them with his own. “I know it’s dangerous, for both of us, but who knows when I will be this sane again? It’s been weeks since we’ve even been able to have a normal conversation!”

           Maka must be able to keep track of her lucid moments; she either notices the time passing while she’s insane, or makes note of when she is sane. Maybe both.

           “It’s going to have to be soon, or now. I’m starting to drift.” Her voice is firm, even if it cracks a little at the end, and Soul is once again in awe over Maka’s strength. She is steel beneath skin, and his angel in disguise. He can see that she is drifting; it’s obvious in that twitch of her fingers. “Soul, you’re so strong, I know we can do it. I _know_ we can.”

           Soul leans in close enough that their foreheads brush, and he’s going a little cross-eyed keeping his eyes on hers. “You are the strongest person I know, and I can’t be strong unless you are by my side. So please,” he breathes out against her skin, “don’t ever leave me _ever again_.”

           Maka has no chance to respond, because with a kiss like fire on her forehead, Soul stands so abruptly he knocks his chair back, and starts pacing. He’s exhausted from lack of sleep, antsy from coffee he probably should _not_ have had (he doesn’t even _like_ coffee), and anxious from the fucking _insane_ thing they are about to do. Soul knows that last time he attempted Soul Resonance nothing really happened, besides Maka screaming and laughing at his poor attempt; it had been a one-sided try. This seems even more risky, and warning bells are ringing in his ears.

           The last bad decision he made allowed Maka to lose her sanity in the first place. What could the consequences of this be?

           “Fuck. Okay. Shit. Let’s do this.” Maka bristles at the language, but relaxes when he agrees, and he pushes away his nerves. Soul extends his hand, and is pleased to see that it’s not trembling. Maka’s is, though, and it only proves that they need to hurry.

           As emerald meets crimson, Soul steadies his soul wavelengths. He’s been keeping up with training when he hasn’t been tucked inside the hospital, and usually practiced with Black Star and Kid, when he felt up to it, of course. So it’s no issue turning back into a weapon.

           Maka looks a little goofy, sitting up in a hospital bed, holding a massive scythe over her head. The nurse he hadn’t even noticed in the back corner is watching carefully, her thumb hovering over her walkie-talkie in case she needs back up. Soul only just realizes that if Maka cracks now, she could do some serious damage with him before he transforms back. Too late now.

           With steely determination in her eyes and a firm grip on his shaft, she looks like she’s about to go to war, despite the dress and setting. A flash of pride burns him inside. _This is his Maka._

           “Ready?” Soul appears on the blade, shirtless, scar in full sight. Maka’s eyes narrow on it, and a slow grin spreads across her face.

           “Always.”

           They match wavelengths like it hasn’t been two years. And with a determined yell of, “Soul Resonance!” it happens.

~

           From deep within, Soul opens his eyes. The little demon is long gone at this point, but when Soul glances down at himself, he’s in the same black suit. He glances around the small room he’s always appeared in; it’s the same, piano still in place, small dancing floor.

           But now he has to find Maka, and she clearly isn’t here.

           Soul walks steadily over to the large, oak doors in the corner. He pushes them open without hesitation, because he knows Maka will be in there, he can feel it. Soul marches onto the solid black, polished floor, and makes his way to the center of the room.

           He can’t make out Maka in the distance, and when he looks behind him, Soul notices that the walls are gone. It’s just empty space, black all around, and the damn floor. A fine mist hangs in the air, although where it came from, he isn’t sure. He’s the only one there.

           And then he looks down.

           From what looks like miles beneath the floor, now clear enough to see through, he can see a light, approaching quickly. He knows without confirmation that it’s his meister. “Dammit, Maka!” Soul shouts and drops to his knees, pounding on the floor with his fists. “Maka! Come on!”

           Soul can make her out now, see her mouth hanging open in a determined snarl, her hand stretched out in front of her, reaching for his. She’s coming for him. He knew she would be.

           But she’s slowing down now, and Soul knows the black blood won’t let her go so easily, and she needs help. With a guttural shout, Soul releases all of his pent-up feelings: his fear of losing her, his own anger at both himself and her for letting this happen, his loneliness, and most importantly, his _love for her, his hope that someday they’ll be normal together_ ; and he sends all of those mixed feelings down to her, like a ladder for her to climb up on to him.

           And because he knows that won’t be enough, he plunges his hand down through the floor, sinking shoulder deep into the black blood, reaching deep within for his meister, for his love.        

           “MAKA!” Soul screams, reaching desperately for her, and _yes_ , she’s almost to him, almost there, her fingers are brushing his, _yes_ -

           No.

           In the physical world, Soul feels himself slip from Maka’s grip and clatter to the floor.

           She’s never dropped him like that.

           “SOUL!” Maka screeches, their fingertips brushing, aching to clasp hands, and then suddenly, she’s sucked back down into the depths and Soul is blown out of the black blood, spat back out once again, landing with a thud on the solid, black floor, and she’s _gone_.

           “No…” Soul whispers, eyes closing, the black closing in; and he’s woken by a scream.

           Back to himself in the physical world, Soul sits up like he’s been struck by lightning, eyes wide, jaw slack, “Mak-“

           She interrupts him with a scream unlike anything he’s ever heard; it’s blood-curdling, a long, never ending wail, and _oh my god_ , _he ruined everything again_.

           Maka shrieks again, tightening her fingers into her long hair and yanking hard, intent on destroying herself. Her bloodshot eyes are bulging out of her head, her mouth wide open. She thrusts her hands away from her, palms out, like she’s trying to push something away. “No no _no NO!”_ She screeches, letting her hands drop before twitching them up to her face, digging her nails into the skin below her eyes, and dragging them down the lengths of her cheeks. Trails of blood follow her nails.

           The nurse is rapidly talking into her walkie-talkie, no doubt calling for backup, but Soul can’t wait for help. Leaping up from the floor, Soul lunges for Maka, grabbing her hands and yanking them back from her face. She fights him, and _damn_ , she’s still as strong as ever. Soul meets her wide, bulging, rolling eyes with his own, and as soon as they make contact, Maka collapses on the bed. “No, don’t!” She shrieks, curling on herself, away from him, and Soul realizes she’s _afraid of him_.

           He hovers uncertainly over her, keeping her twisting, clawing hands in his so she doesn’t try to hurt herself again, even as her nails dig into his skin and break it. The screams dissipate into slow, shuddering sobs, and she shakes beneath him. Soul has never seen her cry like this before. She’s close to hyperventilating, whole body violently shivering, sobs battering her like a hurricane.

           Someone grabs the back of his shoulder and pulls him forcibly away, and Soul doesn’t even have it in him to fight back. He’s unceremoniously shoved away, towards the door, and Soul obeys, walking towards it, letting himself out. He’s followed by Maka’s voice, breaking in her pleas, “please, just kill me, let it end, let it end,” and her sobs grew more high-pitched and hysteric. “LET ME DIE!” Maka screams, voice high and feral sounding, like a cornered animal, and Soul flinches, letting the door to her room slam shut behind him, blocking out the noise.

           Shaking, Soul slowly sinks to his knees on the cold floor. All he can hear is his beloved meister’s pleas to die, echoing over and over again in his head. He had done that to her. He knew it.

            _His fault, he agreed to it, his fault, she’s gone for good now, another regret to top the rest…_

           Soul can’t help but think that this time, Maka won’t ever be surfacing from her crazed mind ever again.

           And, deep within, he knows it’s his own fault. Again.


	2. Chapter 2

          Soul shutters himself into his apartment for a little under a week, plagued by his regrets, his anger, and especially his revulsion towards himself. He is receiving daily messages and calls from his friends, Tsubaki more than the others, but he shuns them all; misery is the only company he wants, the only company he deserves.

            Maka has finally lost it. And it’s his fault.

            The cracks were spreading further and further up and down his body; he had gotten the first one when Maka had been committed to the hospital. He had felt that crack deepen when they told him he should find another partner. Soul had felt himself breaking at that request, but he had sewed himself back together for her. Always for her.

            But now, nothing could stop him from shattering. Broken pieces of him were scattered across the apartment; parts on the couch, where he and Maka used to sit, her reading, him watching TV; in the kitchen, where they had cooked together; his room, which she had always rushed into early in the morning to wake her up. Soul is lost without her, broken beyond repair.

            In the middle of the sixth day of his own banishment, someone knocks rather loudly on the door. Soul, who has rarely slept, starts at the noise. The only people who have been here lately are the carry out deliverers, and they only came at night. So it has to be one of his friends.

            Soul slips back into his bedroom, determined to ignore whoever it is. He doesn’t need their pity, he needs _Maka_. And they sure as hell can’t bring her back. So he sure as hell is going to ignore them.

            Bent on getting some sleep, Soul shuts his eyes and pretends to be deaf, which is becoming increasingly hard as whoever is out there sounds like they’ve brought in the S.W.A.T. team to batter down his door. Finally, the banging on his door lets up and he breathes out a sigh of relief. His eyes close once more; he is determined to get some rest.

            But then a loud BANG emanates from his front room and Soul sits up with a startled yelp, wondering if someone is about to storm into his room and murder him. “What the hell?!” He shouts, untangling himself from his covers, attempting to see what exactly has just happened. Soul throws open his bedroom door, about to charge out, and comes face-to-face with none other than Black Star.

            Once he realizes his best friend is behind all of this, Soul slumps into a slouch, almost-permanent scowl stretching across his face. With a glance over Black Star’s shoulder, he also realizes his best friend has broken his door down. No, he’s not about to get murdered; but he might do some murder _ing._

            “You _idiot_ ,” Soul seethes, seeing red. There’s a small part of him, tiny really, that is surprisingly happy to see Black Star, but the other 99% is pissed as all get out. “You broke my damn door!”

            Black Star blinks, and then his mouth stretches into a maniacal grin. “You should never prevent your rightful God from entering where he wishes!”

            Soul is really not in the mood for this. He barely puts up with Black Star’s antics on a good day, and today is certainly not a good day. “Black Star, I really don’t want to be around anyone right now. So please leave me alone.”

            Something about Soul’s frankness throws Black Star off, and his smug grin slowly fades. “Soul, as your best friend, I need you to understand something. You need to get off your ass and keep living.”

            It’s Soul’s turn to be surprised, and then angry. “Keep living? Keep _living?!”_ Soul shouts, lips pulled back in a snarl, and Black Star blinks but weathers the storm. “How could you even _say_ that to me? The one person that keeps me alive, that breathes life into me, is fucking insane and it’s _my_ fault! I took her to that point and pushed her past it! How can you tell me to keep living when Maka can’t?!”

            Soul stops to take in a breath and continue, but Black Star stops him with the simple gesture of placing his hand on his shoulder, and suddenly Soul is breathless and cracking even more and tears begin to leak out of his dull, crimson eyes. Black Star has the grace to not look disturbed, although he _does_ look mildly concerned and frightened by Soul’s tears. Soul can’t blame him. He’s never cried in front of Black Star before.

            Black Star isn’t much of a hugger, at least where Soul is concerned, but he does try. He wraps an arm around Soul’s shoulder and awkwardly pats his shoulder, and lets Soul cry. And cry he does. The dam behind his eyes has finally cracked wide enough to break.

            It hurts. It hurts so god damn much that he can barely stand it. Maka, his Maka, is gone and will probably never come back. He did that. _Andithurtssomuchhewantstodie-_

            That thought is finally what brings him back to the surface. Die? No, he doesn’t want that. Maka wouldn’t want that. He needs to be better, and stronger, for her. For her sake, if not his own.

            With that realization, Soul pulls back from Black Star’s awkward hug and dries his eyes. Normally he would be embarrassed, but there isn’t time for that now. Slowly, Soul meets his best friend’s eyes. Something has changed within his eyes, and it shows. Black Star lets out a whoop of happiness, pure elation.

            “ _Soul Eater Evans is back, baby_!” Black Star yells to the ceiling, pumping his fist in the air. “Now go save her, dude!”

            Soul knows exactly what to do. With a sharp nod at Black Star, Soul pushes around him and starts to run, past his broken door, out of the apartment building, and to his bike. He slips on it, throwing caution to the wind, and bolts for his meister.

            Riding is like flying. Even though he’s going twenty miles over the speed limit, it takes Soul a good five minutes to reach the hospital. He parks haphazardly in a handicapped spot, prays to Shinigami he won’t get a ticket, and rushes inside the hospital.

            The nurse knows him by sight, and doesn’t bother to wave him over to sign in; he’s already running past her anyway. She doesn’t yell for him to stop, either; he’s been noticeably absent since Maka’s breakdown, and they were expecting him back any day now.

            When Soul finally reaches Maka’s room, he’s afraid, and that fear slows him down to a jog, and eventually to a slow walk. Soul reaches her door and hesitates with his hand on the handle. Everything is quiet in there, but he can sense his meister’s bizarre, insane soul, and the soul of the kind nurse within.

            Last time he was here, Maka was screaming.

            Still, something is off. Maka’s soul isn’t sending off the crazy vibes they usually do. Instead, those wavelengths seem almost…repressed.

            Soul knows that this time, he will not back down. He will fix his meister, or he will die trying. With a deep breath, Soul pushes down the handle of the door, and steps inside, quietly shutting the door behind him.

            His first instinct is to duck, and he does so; Maka has thrown things at him before. Warily, he stands up and looks around, and is surprised to see Maka calmly lying in bed, asleep. With small, timid steps, Soul walks to the edge of the bed, sharp teeth pressing down into his sensitive tongue. He doesn’t want to wake her up.

            She looks so odd, not even moving, which sends an alarm bell ringing in his head. They had shared beds before in the past, so he knew how she was asleep. She usually tossed around like a fish out of water, but usually he could settle her down just by putting his hand in hers. This, however, is not normal. Even while she was in here, she tossed around and disturbed the sheets. Now they’re neatly tucked around her shoulders.

            “We had to put her under sedatives.” Soul starts at the sound of another voice, and only relaxes a slight amount when he realizes it’s only the nurse. “She was…hurting herself, tearing up the bed, and in constant fear of, well, something. It was for her own good.”

            Soul notices the cuts and dark bruises on his meister’s pale skin, along her hands and arms and even her face, and even though he isn’t happy about it, he knows deep down that the sedative is probably for the best.

            “That’s fine,” Soul says, dragging a chair up next to Maka’s bed. “I just need to…” Soul reaches for her hand, because her hand is still her hand, long, strong fingers and a small wrist. He’s always loved her hands, because they’re strong and beautiful like the rest of her. “I need to save her.”

            The nurse (the name on her tag says Ramirez, he realizes) studies him for a moment. Her brown hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and her blue scrubs have pens in the breast pocket. She has been watching Maka for weeks, during the day shift, and Soul feels a sudden burst of gratitude towards her.

“So save her.” Ramirez settles back into her seat by the monitor’s and machines that are keeping track of Maka’s vitals.

            With a deep breath, Soul interlocks his fingers with Maka’s. He’s nervous, breath puffing quickly past his lips. He can feel her soul if he concentrates on it. His eyes close and he reaches for her, pressing his lips together. Without even realizing it, he leans down to press his forehead to hers. As skin touches skin, soul touches soul, and he is sucked within himself, into the void between two souls.

~

            Deep within herself, Maka Albarn stirs.

~

            When Soul opens his eyes, he is in total and complete darkness. The absence of light. He can feel that he is not contained anywhere, so he drifts, freely.

            It feels like hours as Soul floats through the dark, but in reality, it’s probably only seconds. He doesn’t really know where he’s going, he only knows that Maka is his destination.

            “Where are you, Maka?” Soul grumbles, thinking that only _his_ meister would be this difficult to find. She’s been difficult since day one, but he would never change that. Besides, it might not be her fault; the black blood has devoured most of her _. Is there any Maka left to find?_

            Soul is determined though, so he’ll search for the rest of his life if he has to.

            After what feels like ages, Soul senses something. With a flash of excitement (it has to be Maka!), followed by a crushing drop of depression, he realizes it’s himself. How lovely, another chance to be disappointed and angry with himself.

            It’s eerie to see his own soul. He looks a little more beaten down than he thought he would, and worn out. He’s dark blue on the inside, lightening closer to the edges, appearing faded. His soul mirrors his body, really. Exhaustion makes his entire body droop like a wilted, dying flower.

            But this isn’t about him.

            “I’ll find her,” Soul confidently tells himself, and drifts off once more, his resolve hardened. As he did when trying to save her in his first botched attempt, Soul releases his feelings: his fears, his insecurities, and the strong as hell love he feels for his meister. He lets those feelings guide him home.

            It’s slow going now, which Soul takes to mean he’s getting closer, and the black blood is slowing his approach. But he can’t feel a thing; a brilliant light emanates from him, protecting from the madness he’s swimming through. His love for Maka protects him.

            Finally, up ahead, he sees it; a tiny wisp of a soul, smaller than his one hand. Just a sliver of his meister is left.

            With a roar ripping through his throat, Soul lunges forward, but the black blood is fighting against him; he can barely move now. The black blood is holding him close, and Soul already knows that at this point, if he doesn’t save Maka, he is doomed to insanity himself.

            Like hell he’s going to give up now.

            “Maka!” Soul screeches, hands reaching for that small slip of a soul. A growl rips through his throat as he visibly vibrates, straining to reach her, every cell in his body aching to reach her, to save her. But he can’t move.

            Soul reaches deep within himself, to that place he goes when everything becomes too much for him to bear; when there are too many people around, terrible music, and all of the other extremities that keep him up at night. In this place, Maka is what keeps him company; he can hear her voice and feel her touch on his hand, and he aches within himself because he is so in love with her and he ruined her. Soul would do anything to save her; he would give up himself, he would die for her, just to let her live.

            As soon as Soul has that thought, he hears something. Straining his ears, Soul listens again, and is startled to hear it again.

            “ _Soul!_ ”

            It’s Maka.

            Maka.

            Makamakamakamakamakamakamaka-

            “Fuck, I’m coming!” Soul shouts, and with renewed vigor, strains against the black blood. To his own surprise, he shoots forward, the black blood barely able to hold him back anymore. In no time at all, he’s right in front of her, and the force of warmth emanating from her precious soul is staggering.

            “Soul. Bring me home,” her soul faintly whispers, and because she is Maka and he is Soul and he can deny her nothing, he reaches forward and envelopes the slip of her soul in his arms and holds her close.

            He is home.

~

            In the hospital, two pairs of eyes open at the same time, and meet. One pair is a dull crimson, so pale and worn out, they look like a ghost of their former shine. The other pair is a lively green, awake, _alive_ , and sparkling after slumbering for two years.

            The crimson eyes do something that is – to him, anyway – considered uncool. They water up with tears, and when those eyes close in a blink, the tears spill over and trail down his pale cheeks.

            Maka reaches up and lets her hand brush against his cheek, and she catches one crystal tear on her finger. She pulls her hand away hesitantly, and eyes the wetness on her pointer finger skeptically, like it is fake. But it isn’t, and she knows that. She rubs her thumb against her pointer finger, spreading the wetness.

Soul hasn’t taken his eyes off of her.

And he never will, ever again.

“Hi,” Maka breathes out, eyes meeting his, her voice rough from screams and sore vocal cords. But it’s music to Soul’s ears; he could record just that little ‘hi’ and put it on repeat for years. Soul knows, deep down, that this time she will be okay, he will be okay, and they’ll be okay together. Lips trembling, he leans down and brushes a kiss to her forehead.

“Hi,” Soul answers back, voice wavering, breathless. “You’re okay, oh my god, _Maka_ , you’re okay, thank _Death_ , I thought I lost you, I thought you were gone for good-“

“Don’t be an idiot, Soul. I’ll always find my way back to you. I would be a pretty crappy meister if I didn’t come back for my weapon.” Maka smiles in a way that lights Soul up inside, and god, he’s thankful. He’s even thankful that he’s being called an idiot, because it proves that it really is Maka – he will take being called an idiot for the rest of his life as long as it’s Maka saying it.

With a stupid grin on his face, Soul sits back in his seat, the weariness in his eyes fading.

“Okay,” he says.

~

            They learn, together, that nothing will ever be like their old normal again. They will have to make a new normal, and deal with the scars that the black blood left on Maka. Nightmares plague her every night. In the hospital, Soul does what he can to calm her down and wake her up. They stay up for hours, just holding each other and breathing.

            Things are different back at home. First, Soul has to enlist in the help of the ever-patient Tsubaki to help him clean up the atrocious apartment. It really is disgusting, and Soul will never forget the look on Tsubaki’s face when she first walked inside. But, thankfully, she helps without even saying anything rude. (And, yes, Soul manages to put the door back on its hinges.)

            Maka also moves into his room to sleep in his bed with him. Soul holds her at night, comforts her when she wakes up, and loves her with every beat of his heart. She does better when she sleeps next to him, and Soul briefly wonders if it’s because her soul reaches out to his while she sleeps. He feels it, sometimes, in the dead of night. And he always reaches back.

            Once things are more concrete, things are easier, but Maka’s nightmares never fully go away, never really will. Sometimes, Soul gets sucked into them too, from their soul wavelength’s melding in their sleep.

            Soul teachers her how to reach deep within herself and find that special happy spot that keeps her grounded, that anchors her to sanity. Maka always shudders when she finds it, and her lips part in a sigh of relief.

            Months later, Maka tells him that he’s always there in that happy spot, just like how she’s always there in his.

            Soul isn’t surprised. He’s felt what comes off of her soul, felt her emotions, and he knows that she’s felt his own feelings off of his wavelength. They gravitate towards each other like they always have. This time, though, lips brush each other’s and the hand holding means a little more to them.

            As long as Soul and Maka are together, they’ll be able to reach deep within and find what keeps them grounded. And they live out the rest of their lives, comfortable with that knowledge.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first series I've posted on here. Enjoy!


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